At half past twelve, Lisbeth showed the lawyer and Count Steinbock into her dear Marshal’s study; she was so alarmed at the changes that were taking place in him that she had stayed there with him.
‘Monsieur le Comte,’ said the Marshal, ‘I request you to sign the authorization required by my niece to sell a share certificate of which, at present, she possesses only the capital. Mademoiselle Fischer, you will agree to this sale by renouncing your entitlement to the interest.’
‘Yes, dear Count,’ said Lisbeth without hesitating.
‘Good, my dear,’ replied the old soldier. ‘I hope to live long enough to reward you. I did not doubt you; you are a true republican, a daughter of the people.’
He took the old maid’s hand and kissed it.
‘Monsieur Hannequin,’ he said to the lawyer, ‘draw up the necessary document in the form of a power of attorney and let me have it between now and two o’clock, so that the stock can be sold on the stock exchange today. My niece, the Countess, holds the title. She will be here presently. She will sign the document when you bring it, and so will Mademoiselle. Monsieur le Comte will go back with you to sign it in your office.’
The artist, at a sign from Lisbeth, bowed respectfully to the Marshal and left the room.
The next day, at ten in the morning, the Comte de Forzheim sent in his name to the Prince de Wissembourg and was admitted immediately.
‘Well, my dear Hulot,’ said Marshal Cottin, holding out the newspapers to his old friend. ‘As you see, we have saved appearances. Read these.’
Marshal Hulot put the papers on his old comrade’s desk and handed him two hundred thousand francs.
‘Here is the amount my brother took from the State,’ he said.
‘But this is crazy,’ cried the Minister. ‘We can’t possibly arrange such a restitution,’ he added, speaking into the ear-trumpet the Marshal offered him. ‘We’d have to admit your brother’s peculations and we’ve done everything possible to conceal them.’
‘Do what you like with the money, but I don’t want a farthing stolen from State funds to be in the Hulot family’s fortune,’ said the Count.
‘I’ll seek the King’s orders on the matter. Let’s say no more about it,’ replied the Minister, realizing the impossibility of overcoming the old man’s sublime obstinacy.
‘Goodbye, Cottin,’ said the old man, taking the Prince de Wissembourg’s hand. ‘I feel as if my heart were frozen.’
Then, after taking a step towards the door, he turned round and looked at the Prince, whom he saw deeply moved; he opened his arms to him, and the Prince and the Marshal embraced.
‘I feel as if I were saying goodbye to the whole Grande Armée in your person.’
‘Goodbye, then, my good old comrade,’ said the Minister.
‘Yes, goodbye, for I’m going where all the old soldiers we have mourned have gone.’
At that moment Claude Vignon came in.
The two old remnants of the Napoleonic army gravely saluted each other, banishing all traces of emotion.
‘You must have been pleased with the newspapers, my Prince,’ said the future Master of Appeals. ‘I managed things so that the Opposition sheets believed they were publishing our secrets.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s all of no use,’ replied the Minister, looking at the Marshal as he left through the reception room. ‘I’ve just said a last farewell which has caused me great pain. Marshal Hulot hasn’t three days to live; I saw that clearly yesterday. That man, of perfect integrity, a man whom even the bullets respected in spite of his daring … look … in that chair … he received his death-blow, and at my hand, from a piece of paper. Ring and order my carriage. I’m going to Neuilly,’* he said, putting the two hundred thousand francs away in his ministerial briefcase.
Despite Lisbeth’s care, three days later the Marshal was dead.
Such men are the pride of the causes they have espoused.
For the Republicans, the Marshal was the ideal of patriotism, and so they all attended his funeral, which was followed by a huge crowd. The Army, the Government, the Court, ordinary people, everybody came to pay homage to his noble virtue, his perfect integrity, and his unsullied renown.
It’s not just anyone who has ordinary people at his funeral.
These funeral ceremonies were marked by one of those manifesations of delicacy, good taste, and feeling which now and then recall the virtues and the glory of the French nobility.
For, walking behind the Marshal’s coffin, could be seen the old Marquis de Montauran, the brother of the man who, during the Chouan uprising* of 1799, had been the opponent—the unsuccessful opponent—of Hulot. The Marquis, as he lay dying from the bullets of the Blues, had entrusted the interests of his young brother to the soldier of the Republic (see Les Chouans). Hulot had carried out the dying nobleman’s verbal testament so conscientiously that he succeeded in saving the property of the young man, who was at that time an émigré.
Thus the soldier who nine years earlier had conquered Madame* was not denied the homage of the old French aristocracy.
This death, which occurred four days before the last publication of her marriage banns, was for Lisbeth the thunderbolt which burns up the harvest together with the barn in which it has been stored.
As often happens, the Lorraine peasant had succeeded only too well. The Marshal had died from the blows inflicted on his family by her and Madame Marneffe. The old maid’s hatred, which seemed to be assuaged by success, was increased by the disappointment of all her hopes.
Lisbeth went to Madame Marneffe’s and wept with rage; for she was without a home, the Marshal having restricted his tenancy to his lifetime.
To console Valérie’s friend, Crevel took charge of her savings and amply increased them; he invested the capital at 5 per cent in Célestine’s name, the interest to be paid to Lisbeth.
Thanks to this transaction, Lisbeth had an annuity of two thousand francs.
When the inventory of the Marshal’s assets was made, a note was found for his sister-in-law, his niece Hortense, and his nephew Victorin, bidding them pay, between the three of them, an annuity of twelve hundred francs to Mademoiselle Lisbeth Fischer, the woman who was to have been his wife.